


dream a little dream of me

by fleuricity



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, I’m so sorry, had a sudden need for angst, i don’t know why i did this, warning: will probably make u cry, warning: will probably make u mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleuricity/pseuds/fleuricity
Summary: Gilbert dreams of Anne, but forgets in the morning.He remembers too late.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 21
Kudos: 73





	dream a little dream of me

He never reads Whitman anymore.

  
They used to read together, curled up in front of the fire, all entangled limbs, all entangled hearts. He used to lean in, _oh so close_. Used to eye the glorious column of her throat, used to brush his lips across the place where collar bone met shoulder, used to shudder when she did. 

  
He used to trace his eyes over her every feature, used to memorize each darling freckle and curl, used revel in the precious sight. Used to stare awestruck into eyes that danced in the light of the flames, embers the exact shade of auburn that frequents his dreams.

  
“Oh bride. Oh _wife_. More resistless than I can tell, the thought of you.” 

  
He’d whispered it into her ear, had prided in every shiver he’d extracted, every shallow breath released, the image of her in white bringing wistful goosebumps to his own skin.

  
She’d smiled back. She’d whispered back. She’d loved him back. _She’d loved him back._

  
“I ascend, I float in the regions of your love oh man, oh sharer of my roving life.”

  
To share her roving life. To hold her, to adore her, to worship her and only her. Nowadays, he only allows himself to dream at night, but the auburn still persists.

  
A long time ago, what seems like a lifetime now, he’d made a promise to himself. Her above everything else. His dream, his love, his life. She was paramount. Nothing before her, never.

  
Dreams change, but his never did. At night, he’d dreamt of her, but by daylight he’d forgotten. He hadn’t noticed, but she had.

  
_I miss you, Gil. Come home, Gil. Just for a little while, darling._

  
He’d thought her selfish. He had a life to lead, they had a life to _plan_. Medical school for God’s sake, his _own_ practice! All part of the plan, all part of _their_ plan. 

_I don’t know what you want from me, Anne. I’ve got midterms, papers. I can’t be there at your every beck and call. Write Diana if you’re lonely._

  
His letters dwindled, her’s arrived regularly. He’d read them late at night, tired and alone in his dorm, already half asleep, the flashes of red already dancing across his vision.

  
_Oh Gilbert, I hope you’re well darling. My dear Diana came to visit, can you imagine my delight? Oh, it was utter bliss. But… darling, won’t you write to me? Just a few words, so I know you’re well. Please, Gil._

  
He’d had an exam the next morning. Her letter stayed forgotten on his desk.

  
Summer, and they’re reunited. Summer, and she’s in his arms and all around him. Summer, and he’s _home_.

  
Three beautiful months to cherish her slender hands, her flushed cheeks, her perfect, sloped little nose. Three beautiful months come and go, and the frigid air of autumn chills his bones, his soul, his very being.

  
He takes in her reserved state, the disappointed cast of her eyes, the tremble of her lips. He’s the reason. And he’s livid. He is so _angry_ at her, for sending him letters he didn’t return. For calling him _darling, sweetheart, dear,_ when he’d been everything but. For asking him to stay.

_  
No, no I can’t. I’ve got dreams Anne, I’ve got goals. I’ve got opportunities now in Toronto, friends, connections. You can sit here and twiddle your thumbs all you want, but some of us actually want to do something with our lives._

  
In his rage (at himself or her, he couldn’t tell anymore), he hadn't seen the betrayal in her eyes as she’d doubled back, biting her lip to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

  
_Stop standing in the way of my future, and start thinking about yours._

  
He’d gone still then, his whole body frozen, eyes widening in realization, glancing over at her too late. He’d grasped at her, pulled her into his chest, whispered earnest apologies into her hair over and over. 

_I’m sorry, Anne-girl. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, darling. You’re my future, Anne. Please, my only future._

  
She’d stared at him. Eyes tired, defeated.

  
_I don’t know who you are. But you are not my future._

  
He buys every one of her books. She uses a pseudonym, A.S.C. Gardner. He stares at the name, and feels a bit masochistic. He reads the dedications, and knows he is. Each one is the same.

  
_For my loving husband. Thank you for always supporting my dreams. Thank you for always believing in me._

  
He never reads Whitman anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not even sure what to say. I dont know if I’ll keep this fic up, cuz its midnight and for all I know it’s complete trash, but it helped me vent a little, so now hopefully i’ll be able to go to sleep. Sorry, again.


End file.
